A Visualization of the History of Technology: 1,889 Innovations Across Three Million Years

“Any suf­fi­cient­ly advanced tech­nol­o­gy is indis­tin­guish­able from mag­ic.” So holds the third and most famous of the “three laws” orig­i­nal­ly artic­u­lat­ed by sci­ence fic­tion writer Arthur C. Clarke. Even when it was first pub­lished in the late nine­teen-six­ties, Clarke’s third law would have felt true to any res­i­dent of the devel­oped world, sur­round­ed by and whol­ly depen­dent on advanced tech­nolo­gies whose work­ings they could scarce­ly hope to explain. Nat­u­ral­ly, it feels even truer now, a quar­ter of the way into our dig­i­tal twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry. Indeed, for all we know about how they real­ly work, our cred­it cards, our smart­phones, our com­put­ers, and indeed the inter­net itself might as well be mag­ic.

To best under­stand the tech­nol­o­gy that increas­ing­ly makes up our world, we should attempt to under­stand the evo­lu­tion of that tech­nol­o­gy. Those smart­phones, for exam­ple, could­n’t have been invent­ed in the form we know them with­out the pre­vi­ous devel­op­ments of chem­i­cal­ly strength­ened glass, the mul­ti-touch screen inter­face, and the cam­era phone. Each of those indi­vid­ual tech­nolo­gies also has its pre­de­ces­sors: fol­low the chain back far enough, and even­tu­al­ly you get to the likes of the mobile radio tele­phone, invent­ed in 1946; the phased array anten­na, invent­ed in 1905; and glass, invent­ed around 1500 BC. These and count­less oth­er paths can be traced at the His­tor­i­cal Tech Tree, an ambi­tious project of writer and pro­gram­mer Éti­enne Forti­er-Dubois.

Forti­er-Dubois cred­its among his inspi­ra­tions Sid Meier’s Civ­i­liza­tion games, with their all-impor­tant “tech trees,” and James Burke’s tele­vi­sion series Con­nec­tions, which high­light­ed the unpre­dictable process­es by which one inno­va­tion could lead to oth­ers across the cen­turies or mil­len­nia. Even in the sev­en­ties, Forti­er-Dubois writes, “Burke was already con­cerned that our lives depend on tech­no­log­i­cal sys­tems that very few peo­ple deeply under­stand. It is, of course, pos­si­ble to live with­out com­pre­hend­ing how com­put­ers, mon­ey, or air­planes work. But when every­thing around us feels vague­ly mag­i­cal, reliant on experts whose actions we have no way of ver­i­fy­ing, it’s easy to lose trust in tech­no­log­i­cal solu­tions to our cur­rent prob­lems.” He offers the His­tor­i­cal Tech Tree as a poten­tial cor­rec­tive to that loss of under­stand­ing and the ener­vat­ing atti­tudes it pro­duces.

Forti­er-Dubois him­self admits that the project “made me real­ize how lit­tle I knew about the objects around me. I didn’t real­ly know that ‘elec­tron­ics’ meant con­trol­ling the flow of elec­trons with vac­u­um tubes or semi­con­duc­tors, or that refin­ing petro­le­um into kerosene uses frac­tion­al dis­til­la­tion, or that WiFi and blue­tooth are just the use of cer­tain radio fre­quen­cies that can be detect­ed by a spe­cif­ic kind of chip.” Any­one who explores even this ear­ly ver­sion of the His­tor­i­cal Tech Tree (which, as of this writ­ing, con­tains 1886 tech­nolo­gies and 2180 con­nec­tions between them) will find it an edu­ca­tion­al expe­ri­ence in the same way, pro­vid­ing as it does not just knowl­edge about tech­nol­o­gybut a sense of how much of that knowl­edge we lack. Our civ­i­liza­tion has made its way from stone tools to rob­o­t­axis, mRNA vac­cines, and LLM chat­bots; we’d all be bet­ter able to inhab­it it with even a slight­ly clear­er idea of how it did so. Vis­it the His­tor­i­cal Tech Tree here.

Relat­ed con­tent:

An Inter­ac­tive Time­line Cov­er­ing 14 Bil­lion Years of His­to­ry: From The Big Bang to 2015

The Tree of Lan­guages Illus­trat­ed in a Big, Beau­ti­ful Info­graph­ic

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy Visu­al­ized

The Tree of Mod­ern Art: Ele­gant Draw­ing Visu­al­izes the Devel­op­ment of Mod­ern Art from Delacroix to Dalí (1940)

The His­to­ry of Mod­ern Art Visu­al­ized in a Mas­sive 130-Foot Time­line

The Map of Com­put­er Sci­ence: New Ani­ma­tion Presents a Sur­vey of Com­put­er Sci­ence, from Alan Tur­ing to “Aug­ment­ed Real­i­ty”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Hear the World’s Oldest Instrument, the “Neanderthal Flute,” Dating Back Over 43,000 Years

Sev­er­al years ago, we brought you a tran­scrip­tion and a cou­ple of audio inter­pre­ta­tions of the old­est known song in the world, dis­cov­ered in the ancient Syr­i­an city of Ugar­it and dat­ing back to the 14th cen­tu­ry B.C.E.. Like­ly per­formed on an instru­ment resem­bling an ancient lyre, the so-called “Hur­ri­an Cult Song” or “Hur­ri­an Hymn No. 6” sounds oth­er­world­ly to our ears, although mod­ern-day musi­col­o­gists can only guess at the song’s tem­po and rhythm.

When we reach even fur­ther back in time, long before the advent of sys­tems of writ­ing, we are com­plete­ly at a loss as to the forms of music pre­his­toric humans might have pre­ferred. But we do know that music was like­ly a part of their every­day lives, as it is ours, and we have some sound evi­dence for the kinds of instru­ments they played. In 2008, arche­ol­o­gists dis­cov­ered frag­ments of flutes carved from vul­ture and mam­moth bones at a Stone Age cave site in south­ern Ger­many called Hohle Fels. These instru­ments date back 42,000 to 43,000 years and may sup­plant ear­li­er find­ings of flutes at a near­by site dat­ing back 35,000 years.

bone flute

Image via the The Archae­ol­o­gy News Net­work

The flutes are metic­u­lous­ly craft­ed, reports Nation­al Geo­graph­ic, par­tic­u­lar­ly the mam­moth bone flute, which would have been “espe­cial­ly chal­leng­ing to make.” At the time of their dis­cov­ery, researchers spec­u­lat­ed that the flutes “may have been one of the cul­tur­al accom­plish­ments that gave the first Euro­pean mod­ern-human (Homo sapi­ens) set­tlers an advan­tage over their now extinct Nean­derthal-human (Homo nean­derthalen­sis) cousins.” But as with so much of our knowl­edge about Nean­derthals, includ­ing new evi­dence of inter­breed­ing with Homo sapi­ens, these con­clu­sions may have to be revised.

It is per­haps pos­si­ble that the much-under­es­ti­mat­ed Nean­derthals made their own flutes. Or so a 1995 dis­cov­ery of a flute made from a cave bear femur might sug­gest. Found by arche­ol­o­gist Ivan Turk in a Nean­derthal camp­site at Div­je Babe in north­west­ern Slove­nia, this instru­ment (above) is esti­mat­ed to be over 43,000 years old and per­haps as much as 80,000 years old. Accord­ing to musi­col­o­gist Bob Fink, the flute’s four fin­ger holes match four notes of a dia­ton­ic (Do, Re, Mi…) scale. “Unless we deny it is a flute at all,” Fink argues, the notes of the flute “are inescapably dia­ton­ic and will sound like a near-per­fect fit with­in ANY kind of stan­dard dia­ton­ic scale, mod­ern or antique.” To demon­strate the point, the cura­tor of the Sloven­ian Nation­al Muse­um had a clay repli­ca of the flute made. You can hear it played at the top of the post by Sloven­ian musi­cian Ljuben Dimkaros­ki.

The pre­his­toric instru­ment does indeed pro­duce the whole and half tones of the dia­ton­ic scale, so com­plete­ly, in fact, that Dimkaros­ki is able to play frag­ments of sev­er­al com­po­si­tions by Beethoven, Ver­di, Rav­el, Dvořák, and oth­ers, as well as some free impro­vi­sa­tions “mock­ing ani­mal voic­es.” The video’s YouTube page explains his choice of music as “a pot­pour­ri of frag­ments from com­po­si­tions of var­i­ous authors,” select­ed “to show the capa­bil­i­ties of the instru­ment, tonal range, stac­ca­to, lega­to, glis­san­do….” (Dimkaros­ki claims to have fig­ured out how to play the instru­ment in a dream.) Although arche­ol­o­gists have hot­ly dis­put­ed whether or not the flute is actu­al­ly the work of Nean­derthals, as Turk sug­gest­ed, should it be so, the find­ing would con­tra­dict claims that the close human rel­a­tives “left no firm evi­dence of hav­ing been musi­cal.” But what­ev­er its ori­gin, it seems cer­tain­ly to be a hominid artifact—not the work of predators—and a key to unlock­ing the pre­his­to­ry of musi­cal expres­sion.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Old­est Song in the World: A Sumer­ian Hymn Writ­ten 3,400 Years Ago

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

Hear the “Seik­i­los Epi­taph,” the Old­est Com­plete Song in the World: An Inspir­ing Tune from 100 BC

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Why Bob Dylan’s Unreleased “Blind Willie McTell” Is Now Considered a Masterpiece

Most Dyla­nol­o­gists dis­agree about which is the sin­gle great­est song in Bob Dylan’s cat­a­log, but few would deny “Blind Willie McTell” a place high in the run­ning. It may come as a sur­prise — or, to those with a cer­tain idea of Dylan and his fan base, the exact oppo­site of a sur­prise — to learn that that song is an out­take, record­ed but nev­er quite com­plet­ed in the stu­dio and avail­able for years only in boot­leg form. “Blind Willie McTell” was a prod­uct of the ses­sions for what would become Infi­dels. Released in 1983, that album was received as some­thing of a return to form after the Chris­t­ian-themed tril­o­gy of Slow Train Com­ingSaved, and Shot of Love that Dylan put out after being born again.

Of the mate­r­i­al offi­cial­ly includ­ed on Infi­dels, the great­est impact was prob­a­bly made by the album’s open­er “Jok­er­man,” at least in the punk ren­di­tion Dylan per­formed on Late Night with David Let­ter­man. Not that every Dyla­nol­o­gist is a fan of that song: in the Dai­ly Mav­er­ick, Drew For­rest calls it “ran­dom and inco­her­ent,” draw­ing an unfa­vor­able com­par­i­son with “Blind Willie McTell,” which is “sure to be remem­bered as one of Dylan’s most per­fect cre­ations.”

The sources of that per­fec­tion are many, as explained by Noah Lefevre in the new, near­ly 50-minute long Poly­phon­ic video above on this “unre­leased mas­ter­piece,” whose ori­gin and after­life under­score how thor­ough­ly Dylan inhab­its the musi­cal tra­di­tions from which he draws.

Like most major Dylan songs, “Blind Willie McTell” exists in sev­er­al ver­sions, but the one most lis­ten­ers know (offi­cial­ly released in 1991, eight years after its record­ing) fea­tures Mark Knopfler on twelve-string gui­tar and Dylan him­self on piano. Melod­i­cal­ly based on the jazz stan­dard “St. James Infir­mary Blues” and named after a real, pro­lif­ic musi­cian from Geor­gia, its sparse music and lyrics man­age to evoke a panoram­ic view encom­pass­ing the blues, the Bible, the ways of the old South, and indeed, the very his­to­ry of Amer­i­can music and slav­ery. Though Dylan him­self con­sid­ered the song unfin­ished, he came around to see its val­ue after hear­ing The Band work it into their show, and has by now per­formed it live him­self more than 200 times — none, in adher­ence to the pro­tean char­ac­ter of blues, folk, and jazz, quite the same as the last.

Relat­ed con­tent:

A Mas­sive 55-Hour Chrono­log­i­cal Playlist of Bob Dylan Songs: Stream 763 Tracks

“Tan­gled Up in Blue”: Deci­pher­ing a Bob Dylan Mas­ter­piece

Hear the Uncen­sored Orig­i­nal Ver­sion of “Hur­ri­cane,” Bob Dylan’s Protest Song About Jailed Box­er Rubin “Hur­ri­cane” Carter (1976)

The Reli­gions of Bob Dylan: From Deliv­er­ing Evan­gel­i­cal Ser­mons to Singing Hava Nag­i­la With Har­ry Dean Stan­ton

How Bob Dylan Kept Rein­vent­ing His Song­writ­ing Process, Breath­ing New Life Into His Music

How Bob Dylan Cre­at­ed a Musi­cal & Lit­er­ary World All His Own: Four Video Essays

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Very First Coloring Book, The Little Folks’ Painting Book (Circa 1879)

The_Little_Folks_Paint_Book

Fun­ny how not that long ago col­or­ing books were con­sid­ered the exclu­sive domain of chil­dren. How times have changed. If you are the sort of adult who unwinds with a big box of Cray­olas and pages of man­dalas or out­lines of Ryan Gosling, you owe a debt of grat­i­tude to the McLough­lin Broth­ers and illus­tra­tor Kate Green­away.

Their Lit­tle Folks’ Paint­ing Book burst onto the scene in around 1879 with such fun-to-col­or out­line engrav­ings as “The Owl’s Advice,” “A Flower Fairy,” and “Lit­tle Miss Pride,” each accom­pa­nied by nurs­ery rhymes and sto­ries. The abun­dance of mob caps, pinafores, and breech­es is of a piece with Green­away’s endur­ing takes on nurs­ery rhymes, though grown-up man­u­al dex­ter­i­ty seems almost manda­to­ry giv­en the tiny pat­terns and oth­er details.

See­ing as how there was no prece­dent, the pub­lish­ers of the world’s first col­or­ing book went ahead and filled in the fron­tispiece so that those tack­ling the oth­er hun­dred draw­ings would know what to do. (Hint: Stay inside the lines and don’t get too cre­ative with skin or hair col­or.)

Also note: the copy rep­re­sent­ed here has been care­ful­ly hand-col­ored by the pre­vi­ous own­ers, with one con­tribut­ing some exu­ber­ant scrib­bles in pen­cil. See the full book, and down­load it in var­i­ous for­mats, at Archive.org.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Col­or­ing Books from Libraries & Muse­ums: Down­load & Col­or Thou­sands of Free Images (2024)

The First Adult Col­or­ing Book: See the Sub­ver­sive Exec­u­tive Col­or­ing Book From 1961

Free Col­or­ing Books from The Pub­lic Domain Review: Down­load & Col­or Works by Hoku­sai, Albrecht Dür­er, Har­ry Clarke, Aubrey Beard­s­ley & More

A Free Shake­speare Col­or­ing Book: While Away the Hours Col­or­ing in Illus­tra­tions of 35 Clas­sic Plays

How Scientists Recreated Ancient Egypt’s Long-Lost Pigment, “Egyptian Blue”

Pho­to cour­tesy of Wash­ing­ton State Uni­ver­si­ty.

It’s become fash­ion­able, in recent years, to observe that we live in an increas­ing­ly beige-and-gray world from which all col­or is being drained. Whether or not that’s real­ly the case, all of us still enjoy easy access to a range of col­ors that nobody in the ancient world could have imag­ined, and not just through our screens. Look around you, and your eye will soon fall upon some object or anoth­er whose hue alone would have looked impos­si­bly exot­ic in the civ­i­liza­tion of, say, ancient Egypt. My cof­fee cup offers a sim­ple but vivid exam­ple, with its blue-green, and maybe yours does too.

“Most ancient pig­ments were derived from nat­ur­al resources — ochre, char­coal, or lime, for exam­ple,” writes Ben Seal at Carnegie Muse­ums of Pitts­burgh. “In some cas­es, Egyp­tians were able to use lapis lazuli, a meta­mor­phic rock that was only found in Afghanistan, to rep­re­sent the col­or blue.” But such a “cost-pro­hib­i­tive and com­plete­ly imprac­ti­cal” source, as Seal quotes Carnegie Muse­um of Nat­ur­al His­to­ry Egyp­tol­o­gist Lisa Haney describ­ing it, moti­vat­ed ancient Egyp­tians to come up with “a process to emu­late its intense ultra­ma­rine hue. With­out a con­sis­tent way to rep­re­sent the beau­ti­ful blues of the world around them, they had to get cre­ative.”

Just this past May, Haney and a team of oth­er researchers from CMNH, Wash­ing­ton State Uni­ver­si­ty, and the Smith­son­ian Insti­tu­tion’s Muse­um Con­ser­va­tion Insti­tute pub­lished a paper on their work of re-cre­at­ing what’s called “Egypt­ian blue,” the ear­li­est known syn­thet­ic pig­ment. Extant on arti­facts and used also, it seems, in ancient Rome, and at least once in the Renais­sance (by no less a Renais­sance man than Raphael) its orig­i­nal recipe has since been lost to his­to­ry. Using peri­od mate­ri­als like “cal­ci­um car­bon­ate that could have been drawn from lime­stone or seashells; quartz sand; and a cop­per source” heat­ed to around 1,000 degrees Cel­sius, Seal writes, “the researchers pre­pared near­ly two dozen pow­dered pig­ments in a stun­ning range of blues.”

Pho­to cour­tesy of Wash­ing­ton State Uni­ver­si­ty.

The key was to repli­cate cupror­i­vaite, “the min­er­al that gave Egypt­ian blue such res­o­nance,” and one of those exper­i­men­tal pow­ders turned out to be 50 per­cent cupror­i­vaite by vol­ume. The result­ing pig­ment, as Art­net’s Bri­an Bouch­er writes, is of more than his­tor­i­cal inter­est, with poten­tial mod­ern uses “due to its opti­cal, mag­net­ic, and bio­log­i­cal prop­er­ties. It emits light in the near-infrared part of the elec­tro-mag­net­ic spec­trum, which peo­ple can’t see. For that rea­son, it could be used in appli­ca­tions like dust­ing for fin­ger­prints and for­mu­lat­ing coun­ter­feit-proof inks.” Here in the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry, we may have all the blues we need, but as in the ancient world, the job of stay­ing one step ahead of coun­ter­feit­ers is nev­er done.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed con­tent:

A 3,000-Year-Old Painter’s Palette from Ancient Egypt, with Traces of the Orig­i­nal Col­ors Still In It

Behold Ancient Egypt­ian, Greek & Roman Sculp­tures in Their Orig­i­nal Col­or

The Met Dig­i­tal­ly Restores the Col­ors of an Ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple, Using Pro­jec­tion Map­ping Tech­nol­o­gy

Dis­cov­er Harvard’s Col­lec­tion of 2,500 Pig­ments: Pre­serv­ing the World’s Rare, Won­der­ful Col­ors

Why Most Ancient Civ­i­liza­tions Had No Word for the Col­or Blue

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: An Ad for London’s First Cafe Printed Circa 1652

The sto­ry of cof­fee goes back to the 13th cen­tu­ry, when it came out of Ethiopia, then spread to Egypt and Yemen. It reached the Mid­dle East, Turkey, and Per­sia dur­ing the 16th cen­tu­ry, and then Europe dur­ing the ear­ly 17th, though not with­out con­tro­ver­sy. In Venice, some called it the ‘bit­ter inven­tion of Satan,’ but the Pope, upon tast­ing it, gave it his bless­ing. By 1652, the first café in Lon­don had opened its doors on St. Michael’s Alley, bring­ing cof­fee to England—all thanks to a Sicil­ian immi­grant, Pasqua Rosée.

Today, the British Muse­um hous­es a hand­bill that may well be the first adver­tise­ment for cof­fee in Eng­land. It proves remark­able for a cou­ple of rea­sons. First, the ad intro­duced Brits to what’s now a sta­ple of the West­ern diet, and even­tu­al­ly they’d bring it to North Amer­i­ca. And, what’s more, you can see anoth­er instance of the adage that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Adver­tis­ing is adver­tis­ing. Then, as now, bev­er­ages were sold on their taste and health prop­er­ties. And, of course, you were encour­aged to con­sume the prod­uct not once, but twice a day. You can find a tran­scrip­tion of the text below.

Text:

THE Grain or Berry called Cof­fee, groweth upon lit­tle Trees, only in the Deserts of Ara­bia.

It is brought from thence, and drunk gen­er­al­ly through­out all the Grand Seigniors Domin­ions.

It is a sim­ple inno­cent thing, com­posed into a drink, by being dryed in an Oven, and ground to Pow­der, and boiled up with Spring water, and about half a pint of it to be drunk, fast­ing an hour before and not Eat­ing an hour after, and to be tak­en as hot as pos­si­bly can be endured; the which will nev­er fetch the skin off the mouth, or raise any Blis­ters, by rea­son of that Heat.

The Turks drink at meals and oth­er times, is usu­al­ly Water, and their Dyet con­sists much of Fruit, the Cru­di­ties where­of are very much cor­rect­ed by this Drink.

The qual­i­ty of this Drink is cold and Dry; and though it be a Dry­er, yet it nei­ther heats, nor inflames more than hot Pos­set.

It for­clos­eth the Ori­fice of the Stom­ack, and for­ti­fies the heat with- [miss­ing text] its very good to help diges­tion, and there­fore of great use to be [miss­ing text] bout 3 or 4 a Clock after­noon, as well as in the morn­ing.

[miss­ing text] quick­ens the Spir­its, and makes the Heart Light­some. 

[miss­ing text]is good against sore Eys, and the bet­ter if you hold your Head o’er it, and take in the Steem that way.

It supres­seth Fumes exceed­ing­ly, and there­fore good against the Head-ach, and will very much stop any Deflux­ion of Rheumas, that dis­til from the Head upon the Stom­ach, and so pre­vent and help Con­sump­tionsand the Cough of the Lungs.

It is excel­lent to pre­vent and cure the Drop­sy, Gout, and Scurvy.
It is known by expe­ri­ence to be bet­ter then any oth­er Dry­ing Drink for Peo­ple in years, or Chil­dren that have any run­ning humors upon them, as the Kings Evil. &c.

It is very good to pre­vent Mis-car­ry­ings in Child-bear­ing Women.

It is a most excel­lent Rem­e­dy against the Spleen, Hypocon­dri­ack Winds, or the like.

It will pre­vent Drowsi­ness, and make one fit for Busines, if one have occa­sion to Watch, and there­fore you are not to drink of it after Sup­per, unless you intend to be watch­ful, for it will hin­der sleep for 3 or 4 hours.

It is observed that in Turkey, where this is gen­er­al­ly drunk, that they are not trou­bled with the Stone, Gout, Drop­sie, or Scurvy, and that their Skins are exceed­ing cleer and white.

It is nei­ther Lax­a­tive nor Restrin­gent.

Made and Sold in St. Michaels Alley in Corn­hill, by Pasqua Rosee, at the Signe of his own Head.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2012.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

“The Virtues of Cof­fee” Explained in 1690 Ad: The Cure for Lethar­gy, Scurvy, Drop­sy, Gout & More

Jim Henson’s Com­mer­cials for Wilkins Cof­fee: 15 Twist­ed Min­utes of Mup­pet Cof­fee Ads (1957–1961)

The Birth of Espres­so: The Sto­ry Behind the Cof­fee Shots That Fuel Mod­ern Life

How Human­i­ty Got Hooked on Cof­fee: An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry

When the Dutch Tried to Live in Concrete Spheres: An Introduction to the Bolwoningen in the Netherlands

In the decades after the Sec­ond World War, many coun­tries faced the chal­lenge of rebuild­ing their hous­ing and infra­struc­ture while also hav­ing to accom­mo­date a fast-arriv­ing baby boom. The gov­ern­ment of the Nether­lands got more cre­ative than most, putting mon­ey toward exper­i­men­tal hous­ing projects start­ing in the late nine­teen-six­ties. Hop­ing to hap­pen upon the next rev­o­lu­tion­ary form of dwelling, it end­ed up fund­ing designs that, for the most part, strayed none too far from estab­lished pat­terns. Still, there were gen­uine out­liers: by far the most dar­ing pro­pos­al came from artist and sculp­tor Dries Kreijkamp: to build a whole neigh­bor­hood out of Bol­wonin­gen, or “ball hous­es.”

The idea may bring to mind Buck­min­ster Fuller’s geo­des­ic domes, which enjoyed a degree of utopi­an vogue in the nine­teen-six­ties and sev­en­ties. Like Fuller and most oth­er vision­ar­ies, Kreijkamp labored under a cer­tain mono­ma­nia. His had to do with globes, “the most organ­ic and nat­ur­al shape pos­si­ble. After all, round­ness is every­where: we live on a globe, and we’re born from a globe. The globe com­bines the biggest pos­si­ble vol­ume with the small­est pos­si­ble sur­face area, so you need min­i­mum mate­r­i­al for it.” The 50 Bol­wonin­gen built in ‘s‑Hertogenbosch, bet­ter known as Den Bosch, were quick­ly fab­ri­cat­ed on-site out of glass fiber rein­forced con­crete. It was­n’t the poly­ester Kreijkamp had at first spec­i­fied, but then, poly­ester would­n’t have last­ed 40 years.

Since they were put up in 1984, the Bol­wonin­gen have been con­tin­u­ous­ly inhab­it­ed. In the video at the top of the post, Youtu­ber Tom Scott pays a vis­it to one of them, whose occu­pant seems rea­son­ably sat­is­fied. (It seems they’re “cozy” in the win­ter­time.)

Like geo­des­ic domes, their round walls make it dif­fi­cult to use their the­o­ret­i­cal­ly gen­er­ous inte­ri­or space effi­cient­ly, at least with­out com­mis­sion­ing cus­tom-made fur­ni­ture; leak­ing win­dows are also a peren­ni­al prob­lem. While each Bol­won­ing can com­fort­ably house one or even two sim­ple-liv­ing peo­ple, only the most utopia-mind­ed would attempt to raise a fam­i­ly in one of them. As with oth­er round or cir­cu­lar home designs, expan­sion would be phys­i­cal­ly imprac­ti­cal even if it were legal­ly pos­si­ble.

Used as social hous­ing by the local gov­ern­ment, the Bol­wonin­gen now enjoy a pro­tect­ed his­toric sta­tus. (As well they might, giv­en their con­nec­tion with the art and indus­try of Dutch glass­blow­ing: it was while work­ing in a glass fac­to­ry that Kreijkamp first began pros­e­ly­tiz­ing for spheres.) And unlike most aes­thet­i­cal­ly rad­i­cal hous­ing devel­op­ments, they haven’t gone to seed, but rather received the nec­es­sary main­te­nance over the decades. The result is an appeal­ing neigh­bor­hood for those whose lifestyles are suit­ed to its unusu­al struc­tures and its con­tained bucol­ic set­ting, of which you can get an idea in the walk­ing video tour just above. By the time Kreijkamp died in 2014, he per­haps felt a cer­tain degree of regret that mass-pro­duced glob­u­lar homes did­n’t prove to be the next big thing. But he did live to see the emer­gence of the “tiny house” move­ment, which should retroac­tive­ly adopt him as one of its lead­ing lights.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Life & Times of Buck­min­ster Fuller’s Geo­des­ic Dome: A Doc­u­men­tary

Denmark’s Utopi­an Gar­den City Built Entire­ly in Cir­cles: See Astound­ing Aer­i­al Views of Brønd­by Have­by

Good­bye to the Nak­a­gin Cap­sule Tow­er, Tokyo’s Strangest and Most Utopi­an Apart­ment Build­ing

The Utopi­an, Social­ist Designs of Sovi­et Cities

Watch an Ani­mat­ed Buck­min­ster Fuller Tell Studs Terkel All About “the Geo­des­ic Life”

The Engi­neer­ing of the Strand­beest: How the Mag­nif­i­cent Mechan­i­cal Crea­tures Have Tech­no­log­i­cal­ly Evolved

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Hear the Letter of Gratitude That Albert Camus Wrote to His Teacher After Winning the Nobel Prize, as Read by Footballer Ian Wright

When Albert Camus won the Nobel Prize, he wrote a let­ter to one of his old school­teach­ers. “I let the com­mo­tion around me these days sub­side a bit before speak­ing to you from the bot­tom of my heart,” the let­ter begins. “I have just been giv­en far too great an hon­or, one I nei­ther sought nor solicit­ed. But when I heard the news, my first thought, after my moth­er, was of you.” For it was from this teacher, a cer­tain Louis Ger­main, that the young, father­less Camus received the guid­ance he need­ed. “With­out you, with­out the affec­tion­ate hand you extend­ed to the small poor child that I was, with­out your teach­ing and exam­ple, none of all this would have hap­pened.”

Camus ends the let­ter by assur­ing Mon­sieur Ger­main that “your efforts, your work, and the gen­er­ous heart you put into it still live in one of your lit­tle school­boys who, despite the years, has nev­er stopped being your grate­ful pupil.”

In response, Ger­main recalls his mem­o­ries of Camus as an unaf­fect­ed, opti­mistic pupil. “I think I well know the nice lit­tle fel­low you were, and very often the child con­tains the seed of the man he will become,” he writes. What­ev­er the process of intel­lec­tu­al and artis­tic evo­lu­tion over the 30 years or so between leav­ing the class­room and win­ning the Nobel, “it gives me very great sat­is­fac­tion to see that your fame has not gone to your head. You have remained Camus: bra­vo.”

It isn’t hard to under­stand why Camus’ let­ter to his teacher would res­onate with the foot­baller Ian Wright, who reads it aloud in the Let­ters Live video at the top of the post. A 2005 doc­u­men­tary on his life and career pro­duced the ear­ly viral video above, a clip cap­tur­ing the moment of Wright’s unex­pect­ed reunion with his own aca­d­e­m­ic father fig­ure, Syd­ney Pig­den. Com­ing face to face with his old men­tor, who he’d assumed had died, Wright instinc­tive­ly removes his cap and address­es him as “Mr. Pig­den.” In that moment, the stu­dent-teacher rela­tion­ship resumes: “I’m so glad you’ve done so well with your­self,” says Pig­den, a sen­ti­ment not dis­sim­i­lar to the one Mon­sieur Ger­main expressed to Camus. Most of us, no mat­ter how long we’ve been out of school, have a teacher we hope to do proud; some of us, whether we know it or not, have been that teacher.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Reads Albert Camus’ Touch­ing Thank You Let­ter to His Ele­men­tary School Teacher

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Albert Camus’ Exis­ten­tial­ism, a Phi­los­o­phy Mak­ing a Come­back in Our Dys­func­tion­al Times

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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